


if you will come all the way down with me

by Mildredo



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredo/pseuds/Mildredo
Summary: 'Underneath her shirt, Amy is bruised all over. Her left side is blooming shades of purple and black and Jake runs his fingertips lightly across the injury.
  
  “Does it hurt?” he asks, like it might not. Amy nods, then shrugs her shoulders.
  
  “He kicked me. Figgis. If I hadn’t been wearing my vest it would’ve been worse. Nothing broken.”
  
  “Ames…”
  
  “It’s fine, Jake. It was worth it. He’s in jail and you’re coming home. I can take a little bruising for that.”'
 Jake and Amy are reunited in Florida after six months apart.





	

Outside, a late summer storm is brewing, closing in fast. The clouds are heavy and grey, so thick that the streetlights are on hours before they should be. The air all day was thick with humidity and most everyone has retreated inside. Jake soaked through three shirts while the squad, in their bulletproof vests and heavy body armor, were approaching dangerous dehydration by the end of the operation. But it worked.

It _worked_.

The hotel air conditioning is turned to its lowest setting and both nightstands have a large bottle of ice cold water on them, dripping condensation onto the wood. Amy scrapes her sweat-damp hair into a messy ponytail, sits on the edge of the bed, and drinks almost half the bottle without stopping.

It’s been so long. Jake has imagined this a thousand different ways; all the things he’d say when he finally saw Amy again, all the ways he’d make up for the distance. But there was work to do and no time to speak and now they’re alone, Jake doesn’t know what to say.

“I missed you,” he says. It’s lame, it’s not enough. He flops onto the empty side of the bed. His side. Amy turns her head and smiles, the corners of her mouth glistening with water. A rouge droplet has escaped her lips, leaving a shining trail along her neck.

“I missed you too. So much.”

“So much,” Jake agrees. He curls onto his side and lets his eyes close, lets himself breathe. Beside him, Amy shifts, and Jake opens his eyes again just to make sure she’s still there. She’s lying beside him, close and warm, and their breaths mix in the space between their faces. She reaches her left hand out to take Jake’s right and as their fingers twist together, Jake’s heart swells and his toes tingle. The solid, leaden weight he’s been carrying in the pit of his stomach for six months has gone; he’s filled with relief and freedom and love. He closes the gap, whispering Amy’s name against her lips before kissing her, finally kissing her. Amy’s mouth is still cold from the icy water and the angle is awkward but they fall into a rhythm quickly and it’s as if they were never apart.

Jake lets his hand fall loosely against Amy’s hip and she shifts so they’re pressed completely together, knees interlocking, and her hand drifts up from the small of Jake’s back, lightly scratching along his spine, to curl into his hair. He remembers for a second that he still has those ridiculous bleached tips but then Amy’s tugging just a little, just enough that his hair could be dyed seven shades of pink and he wouldn’t care at all. Amy pulls him impossibly closer, her nails digging into his scalp, and Jake realizes that through all of his focus on her hands in his hair she’s been grinding on his thigh; slow at first, but getting faster, and as she picks up speed her hipbone ruts up against his boner. Amy’s tiny, nasal moans vibrate on Jake’s tongue and at this rate it’ll all be over in thirty seconds. They can’t let six months of anticipation unravel in thirty seconds.

He slows the kiss until it’s softer, until the desperation ebbs a little, and shifts them both so Amy’s on her back, her ponytail slackened and her cheeks flushed a deep red. Jake presses kisses to her forehead, the tip of her nose, her chin, her jaw. He fumbles with the buttons on her blouse and, chuckling at his clumsy fingers, Amy helps him out. Thunder crashes outside; the storm has hit, finally, and tomorrow will be cooler. Not that it matters, because tomorrow they’ll be back in Brooklyn where seasons exist and everything Jake has dreamed of for half a year is coming true tonight.

Underneath her shirt, Amy is bruised all over. Her left side is blooming shades of purple and black and Jake runs his fingertips lightly across the injury.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, like it might not. Amy nods, then shrugs her shoulders.

“He kicked me. Figgis. If I hadn’t been wearing my vest it would’ve been worse. Nothing broken.”

“Ames…”

“It’s fine, Jake. It was worth it. He’s in jail and you’re coming home. I can take a little bruising for that.” Amy reaches up to the back of Jake’s neck with one hand and pulls him down to kiss her again, softly catching his lips in hers before sliding her free hand down the back of Jake’s shorts, squeezing a cheek briefly and breathing a laugh against his mouth. The knot in Jake’s stomach that formed at the sight of his girlfriend bruised and hurt loosens because she’s okay, she’s tough and laughing and partially naked. And she’s _there_.

Jake kisses her once more, deep and purposeful, and slips a hand below Amy’s waistband to cup her over her underwear; soft cotton and, if Jake knows Amy, black to match her bra. She bucks into Jake’s hand, searching for more, her head tilting back a little and her eyes closed. Slowly, lightly, he runs his fingers back and forth across the gusset and drops kisses to Amy’s neck, her collarbone. Amy finds the presence of mind to reach around to unclip and remove her bra, and Jake scatters more gentle kisses across her chest before sucking a nipple between his lips and, at the same time, allowing his fingers to find the edge of Amy’s underwear and slip beneath, brushing her clit with his fingertip. The sound that the combination elicits sends fresh waves of arousal through Jake’s body and definitely lets the neighbors know what’s happening in their room; the sound of Amy Santiago, queen of logic and reason, coming undone. Jake removes his hand to help Amy shuffle out of her pants and while he pulls off his shirt, Amy pushes down Jake’s shorts so they fall low enough to be kicked off, landing somewhere across the room.

Jake gasps a little, his breath catching in his chest as Amy’s hand closes around him and she gives a few light strokes. She lets go after a few moments and Jake groans at the loss, but immediately forgives her when she leans down to reach into her floral duffel bag and pulls out a condom with a grin.

“Thought we might need these,” she says, carefully discarding the shiny green foil and pinching the tip.

“Always prepared,” Jake says, and Amy slowly, teasingly rolls the condom down his length and cranes her neck up to kiss him. “God, I love you.”

Amy leans back against the pillows, loosely bracketing Jake’s sides with her knees. One is scraped on the joint with a small bruise near the crease; Jake runs a tender thumb across the mark before moving forward, kissing Amy hard as he slides inside her. Her hips cant up to meet Jake’s every movement and they’re soon breathless and panting and close. Jake buries his face into the side of Amy’s neck, pressing light kisses to the soft skin behind her ear, and everything is right again. The world has been upside down but this, all of this, from Amy’s familiar shampoo, to her shallow breaths, to her slick heat surrounding Jake’s cock, to her preparedness and her fight and her dogged determinism, has turned it all around. He’s going home to Brooklyn. He’s already home with Amy.

Jake comes first, buried to the hilt inside Amy, and he stays there until the stimulation gets too much. Amy’s so close, her chest flushed and heaving, and after quickly removing the condom Jake bends to run his tongue across her clit, sliding two fingers inside her and curving them just a little. She comes around his fingers with a cry and Jake slips his hand away, licking her until the convulsions die down and then licking his fingers clean. With shaking hands, Amy cups the back of Jake’s head and pulls him down into a deep, ardent kiss, their naked bodies pressed together and completely spent. 

 

The storm is still raging outside, rain battering the windows, but the temperature has barely cooled at all so they slip beneath the sheets without bothering to find nightclothes. Amy curls herself around Jake’s back, rests her chin on his shoulder and lays her arm across his waist, fingers absent-mindedly playing with the strip of soft hair on his lower abdomen. The day has been long and they’re exhausted, but being together after all this time is worth every moment of sleep they both fight off. 

“I never want to be apart from you again,” Amy whispers, nuzzling her nose against Jake’s temple. “I hated you not being there. Not knowing where you were, if you were safe…”

Jake shifts, turns in Amy’s arms so they’re nose-to-nose, and strokes some loose hair behind her ear. “I hate Florida,” he says. “But I love you.”

“I hate Florida too,” Amy smiles, finishing the sentiment by closing the small space between them to kiss him. It’s a little overwhelming, to be in the one place that for a long while Jake was certain he’d never get back to, and he tries to ignore the lump forming in his throat when Amy pulls away and settles back into her pillow, just inches away. No distance at all. He’s thought about the moment a million times, and it’s always been elaborate and complicated and impressive. It’s never been quiet and intimate and private. And yet… 

“Marry me.”

It’s barely a whisper, and Amy’s sleep-heavy eyes flutter open. She’s searching Jake’s expression for the joke but there isn’t one. He’s serious and his heart is pounding so loud that he almost misses her whispered assent until she’s kissing him again. And he’s home.


End file.
